


God's Country

by melospiza



Category: The Prophecy (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hermaphrodites, Intersex, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:23:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melospiza/pseuds/melospiza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer began to walk, and Simon fell into line barely a stride behind him.  He stared down at Lucifer’s hands clasped behind his back, the way the fabric of his coat creased with the pressure of his arms.  Simon couldn’t help but wonder if there was some punishment to be derived from consorting with one of the Fallen… but there was no thrill of warning in his heart, no whisper of reprimand in his mind.  Simon tilted his head back, casting his gaze up toward the sky, wondering… did God even see them now?  Did He even care?</p>
            </blockquote>





	God's Country

**TITLE:** God's Country  
 **SERIES:** _The Prophecy_  
 **RATING:** R  
 **CHAPTERS/ONE SHOT:** One Shot  
 **GENRE:** M/M (kind of), non-con  
 **PAIRING/S:** Lucifer/Simon  
 **SUMMARY:** Lucifer and Simon have a little Angel-y bonding, slash-style.  
 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** A DVD style commentary for this fic exists [here](http://melospiza.livejournal.com/1723.html).  
 **DISCLAIMER:** I do not own these characters, I'm just borrowing them for fun.

 

 

The desert is a lonely place.

  


Sometimes the air is still, and so silent that it feels as if nothing exists save you, this earth, and this sky in midafternoon when the air shimmers with heat and the masters of this realm that creep and crawl and fly are all tucked away in darkened holes. They waited; they spent their whole lives waiting for nightfall, for the drop in temperature that allowed them to continue on their daily lives. The only creatures in this harsh land stupid enough to come out during the hottest part of the day were the members of mankind who lived there.

  


The land is quiet, save for the occasional scuttle of a lizard or the far-off cry of a circling hawk. On rare occasions, the sound of thunder came rumbling across the desert for miles, the roiling clouds ripped by white-hot lightning, and even more rarely the rain came with it, spattering down onto the sun-baked earth like a benediction. God was bowling, the Humans told their children to explain the sound, laughingly, or more seriously they said He was angry. And rain? The Angels were weeping.

  


God knew they had reasons to weep.

  


He had come to the place that he had been seeking at the onset of night, a creature silent and nondescript, a man that, even in this small town, few seemed to notice. He prowled through the darkened streets, all but emptied as the hour grew later, seeking something, and attempting to remain unseen. He nimbly stepped over a lean black cat that had appeared from behind a trash can to twine around his ankles, a distant street lamp reflecting briefly from the coppery red of his hair. His trenchcoat swirled heavily as he crept, shoulders hunched, toward a modest ranch home that rested near the outskirts of the town. The blue-white flickering light of a television set reflected on the walls of a room at the front of the house, while all other windows remained in stygian darkness.

  
 __

Too easy, he reflected to himself, his eyes sliding along the house’s mint-painted exterior, the subtle color muddied by the darkness. His nostrils dilated as he sucked in a breath, drawing air into his lungs in a gesture that, to him, was entirely unfamiliar, though what he felt now was more sensation than scent. The man inside the house, sprawled untidily on his neatly reupholstered couch with stains of grass and sweat on his clothing, was dying.

  


The one who lurked outside took another deep breath, a nimble bound carrying him to the top of the fence where he perched like some massive vulture, the tails of his coat hanging like black wings. This _couldn’t_ be the right place… it had been entirely too easy to find. Or perhaps he had just been lucky? The fact that he had been walking in flesh for at least a week now and had not yet been accosted seemed a testament to his incredible luck.

  


Of course, luck could change in an instant.

  


He scented the other Angel before he saw him. To Humans, Angels smelled like good things, fresh baked bread "like grandma used to make", cookies, cinnamon, vanilla, clean puppies. But to other Angels, an Angel smelled like blood… and this one was bloodier than most. 

  


The watcher vaulted from his perch, attempting to create a distance that was defensible, if not safe, between himself and the other dark figure that had suddenly appeared out of the darkness like a phantom. Eyeless sockets gazed at him for a moment before, with a blink, a pair of damp orbs appeared in the once blank holes in that face, white with jet irises and pupils that opened into a vast, empty abyss.

  


"Hello, Simon." The other "man" inclined his head.

  


"Lucifer," Simon whispered, his own eyes wide with trepidation unconcealed. "What are you doing here?"

  


"The same thing _you_ are doing, I suppose," Lucifer replied silkily. He clasped his hands before him, his dark hair gliding over his shoulders as he turned his head to gaze at the dancing television light on the ranch house’s living room wall.

  


"You want it," Simon murmured, his shoulders straightening as he clenched his jaw. 

  


"Of course I do." Lucifer’s laugh was soft and mocking. "It is potent, dark, delicious… I can _taste_ it from here."

  


"Would you take it to him?" Simon asked in a soft hiss. He let his eyes narrow as he studied the figure before him with mistrustful eyes.

  


"Of course not," Lucifer replied acerbically. "This isn’t my war, Simon. My war was a long time ago. And, if you hadn’t noticed…" He paused, lifting his brows as he looked toward Simon again, affecting a mournful expression as one hand drifted upward, index finger extending to wipe away a nonexistent tear. "I lost."

  


"Then why are you here?"

  


"Why, indeed. _You_ are the one who is not supposed to be here." Lucifer murmured, his voice liquid and soft, "This is _my_ playground."

  


Simon turned to stare through the window into the darkened interior of the house, reaching out with one hand to grip the fence tightly with long, smooth fingers. "I can’t let him have it."

  


"Who, exactly?" Lucifer asked quietly, folding his hands together against his own stomach.

  


Simon blinked, glancing toward Lucifer in slight surprise. Did he really not know a thing about what was going on in Heaven? "Gabriel."

  


"Oh, still? Persistent, isn’t he?" Lucifer began to move closer to Simon, and the angel-turned-mortal stiffened, anticipating the worst. But Lucifer simply walked past him, skirting around a clump of dense sage to step onto the graveled edge of the road. "Walk with me, Simon."

  


Simon hesitated, watching him mistrustfully. As Simon refused to move, Lucifer turned to look back at him, the dark swirl of his long coat licking at his calves. His incomprehensible eyes glinted softly in the twilight of the evening.

  


"Oh, come now, Simon," The dark-haired Angel said quietly, lips twisting into a smirk. "I won’t bite -- unless you ask me to."

  


Simon cast one last glance back over his shoulder at the house, sucking in a sharp breath as the man within coughed, a desperate wheeze of sound. His shoulders tensed, and Lucifer, growing irate, spoke again. 

  


"He’s not going to die. Not yet. Come with me, Simon."

  


Simon stood staring for a moment longer and then turned away, following Lucifer’s footsteps over the arid soil back onto the wide, uneven scrawl of the road that ran in front of the mint-colored house. Lucifer began to walk, and Simon fell into line barely a stride behind him. He stared down at Lucifer’s hands clasped behind his back, the way the fabric of his coat creased with the pressure of his arms. Simon couldn’t help but wonder if there was some punishment to be derived from consorting with one of the Fallen… but there was no thrill of warning in his heart, no whisper of reprimand in his mind. Simon tilted his head back, casting his gaze up toward the sky, wondering… did God even see them now? Did He even care?

  


"Do you know what the monkeys call this place?" Lucifer asked without turning, his hair as glossy as a hawk’s wing-feathers as it rested against his shoulders.

  


"No," Simon replied, uncertain.

  


"God’s country." Lucifer threw his head back to laugh, and a dog that had been barking somewhere in the distance fell silent. "This barren land, where no talking monkey could survive without their precious electricity and their pipes pumping water from rivers, lakes, streams far underground that were carving out these rocks before they even _dreamed_ of such a place, they call God’s country."

  


Simon frowned and remained silent.

  


"Do you know what would happen if it failed? The generators stopped, the juice stopped flowing, the pipes all burst? They would die. They would _all_ die, and they would curse God for it, as if it had been His idea for them to live here. Isn’t that amusing? Aren’t you amused, Simon?"

  


"No," Simon replied flatly.

  


"Ah, but you are still so naive," said Lucifer. "You’ll get the joke eventually."

  


The town was silent; the few residents that remained after the mines could no longer sustain them tucked snug in their beds for a long summer’s nap. They took no notice of the two figures walking in the night, coats fluttering like wings, did not hear the blasphemy of their conversation. 

  


Simon followed Lucifer without speaking, without a clue as to where they were going, and without really knowing why he was doing so. He could not say that he trusted Lucifer, but there was something that drew him to the other Angel. Perhaps it was mere curiosity; perhaps he felt a deep compassion toward his fallen brother who so long ago was removed from God’s sight. Or perhaps it was something else entirely.

  


Simon was so deep in thought that he did not realize how far they had walked, and so it was a surprise to him to glance up and see the scaffolding of the town’s church, the sun-bleached stone made golden by the soft glow of floodlights. As he stood staring up at the building’s façade, Lucifer walked up the steps and reached for the door. By rights it should have been locked at this late hour, but the doors yielded to the touch of the one who had been First and swung silently open in Lucifer’s hands. Lucifer turned halfway, looking back over his shoulder at Simon still standing in the street below him and asked, "Are you coming?"

  


Simon stared as Lucifer vanished through the church’s portal, an odd sensation uncoiling in the depths of his stomach. Somehow he had not imagined that it would be so trivial a thing for one Fallen to enter a place of the Lord. Simon glanced once around the empty streets, and then he climbed the worn marble stairs and reached for the handle of the door. Prior to this, he might have believed that coming to a place like this would have been comforting for him. But now he did not feel comforted. As he entered, the wooden doors swung heavily shut behind him.

  


The church’s interior was just as dimly lit as its exterior, and Lucifer was a figure shrouded in darkness as he walked up the aisle. Approaching the pulpit he began to spread his arms wide, as if he intended to embrace the painted wooden figure of Christ that hung on its cross on the wall above. Simon’s lips compressed into a thin line, the sole of one shoe scuffing against the ceramic tile of the church’s entryway. This place smelled of dust, memories, and sorrow.

  


"Well, here we are," Lucifer said, and he whirled around suddenly to face Simon. He lifted his hands above his shoulders and let his head loll in a parody of the figure behind him. Simon’s eyes widened for a moment, and then he turned his gaze swiftly away, causing a decadent ripple of laughter to rise from Lucifer’s throat.

  


"Here are we, and no one else. Not a lot of these monkeys come to church anymore, Simon. Do you know why?"

  


"They… must have lost their faith," Simon murmured, staring at a crack in the side of the nearest pew.

  


"They’ve lost their faith in God," Lucifer replied, the rustle of his clothing and the quiet strike of his footsteps heralding his approach. "They haven’t lost their faith in _me._ I rarely disappoint, which is more than can be said for _some_ people." His gaze flicked significantly toward the ceiling.

  


"Why did you bring me here, Lucifer?" Simon snapped harshly, beginning to lose his patience.

  


"Where else would I take you, Simon?" Lucifer asked, and he was now uncomfortably close. Simon shied away from him, but Lucifer had grabbed the front of his shirt and was now dragging him forward. "Sit with me," he said, swinging Simon off-balance, and Simon had no choice but to tumble sideways and land in an ungraceful sprawl across the hard wooden seat of the pew. He flailed for a moment, struggling to right himself, while Lucifer calmly and gracefully settled beside him. 

  


"So you want to save the world, do you?" Lucifer’s hands settled neatly upon the pew before him, forcing him to lean forward slightly, and he regarded Simon out of the corner of his eye as he spoke. "Or are you only trying to spite Gabriel? I can’t fault you for that; I don’t like him either. Never have, not since he tried to put me on a spike."

  


"I’m trying to do what God wants me to do," Simon replied, somewhat breathless. He sat awkwardly with his shoulders pressed to the wall behind him, his hand clutching at the back of the pew they occupied.

  


"God doesn’t want you to _do_ anything," Lucifer said in a low, deadly tone as he turned toward him. "You don’t _get_ that yet?" The copper-haired Angel was rendered immobile by the dark intensity of Lucifer’s gaze. 

  


"Get _what_ , exactly?" Simon snapped in response. "I follow His will!"

  


"And when was the last time He told you exactly what His will _was_?" 

  


Simon fell silent, the tension in his body ebbing, replaced with a sudden and strange disquiet. He could not answer the question. Lucifer either felt the thrum of discomfort in Simon’s body or saw it in his eyes, these glassy liquid orbs he was not yet accustomed to. And since Lucifer seemed to feed off his discomfort, Simon was not surprised when the Fallen slid closer to him, an arm going around his shoulders.

  


"You’re confused," Lucifer cooed, his brows drawing together in an expression of sympathy. "You want to follow the Word, but these moldy old books you stash under your wings don’t make much sense, do they? So you ask God, and He doesn’t answer you… it’s like the blind leading the blind up there, isn’t it?"

  


Simon’s throat clicked as he attempted to swallow, his mouth dry. Lucifer’s Angel-scent was overwhelming, the smell of blood disgusting and exhilarating at the same time, and when had Lucifer started touching his chest so lightly? Simon shifted against the hard surface of the pew, fighting the urge to nervously lick his lips as Lucifer studied his throat as if longing to rip it out. Long fingers traced lightly over Simon’s chest, petting him, and Simon could not decide if it was frightening or reassuring. Though, the way Simon’s lungs hitched for breath with each lingering caress did seem to him a bit worrisome.

  


"You… you have no idea what it’s like," he finally managed boldly, but this statement drew no greater reaction from Lucifer than more silken, mocking laughter. 

  


"I knew what it was like before you were even a gleam in God’s eye, Simon." The ticklish sensation of Lucifer’s fingers on Simon’s stomach was making Simon want to squirm, but he could not imagine what might happen should he attempt to slap Lucifer’s hand away. "And now I know what it is like here," Lucifer continued, as calm as if he did not sense Simon’s discomfiture, was not the cause of it. "You’re all up there fighting, and you don’t even have a clear idea of what you’re fighting for."

  


"We know what we’re fighting for," Simon replied hotly, starting up from the pew, but he was quickly shoved back against it again, into the circle of Lucifer’s casually-draped arm.

  


"Do you really? Gabriel wants to rid the world of talking monkeys so that Angels will once more be the apples of God’s eye, and you and your ilk want to save them. But do you even know what they _are?_ Why do you want to save them? Because they have _souls?_ Big fucking deal."

  


Simon inhaled sharply, lifting his hips from the pew in an attempt to evade Lucifer’s touch. Lucifer’s hand had moved beyond the barrier of Simon’s shirt, slipping past the hem to allow long digits to splay warm across Simon’s stomach. "What are you doing?" he protested, but Lucifer’s opposite hand clamped on his shoulder and jerked him closer, further restricting his freedom.

  


"It doesn’t matter, Simon," Lucifer continued, his voice low, smooth as oil. "Even if Gabriel wins, and all the talking monkeys are destroyed, sooner or later God will create a new toy, a new plaything, and Angels will be playing second fiddle again. How long will the idiocy continue?"

  


"We’re trying to stop it _now,_ " Simon replied, the muscles in his stomach jumping beneath Lucifer’s caressing fingertips. God, why did that feel so _good?_

  


"Why?" Lucifer’s voice was barely a whisper as he leaned closer, so close that his breath washed against Simon’s lips, and for a startled moment Simon thought Lucifer had somehow heard his thoughts. But then he continued, "Why are you allowing yourself to be a puppet for Someone who won’t even pull your strings? I’m the only one who has the right of it, you know." He rolled his shoulders in a slight shrug, fingernails raking over Simon’s taut skin and making him gasp. "I do whatever the fuck I want."

  


"B-but that’s…" Simon stammered, arching his back in another, more halfhearted attempt at escape.

  


"That’s what? Wrong? Immoral? Evil? They make me sound _so_ bad up there, don’t they, so _awful_ , when all I did was deign to make my _own_ decisions. And all around us now the talking monkeys can do it, and they don’t get cast down in blood and ruin, do they? If I were Gabriel, _that_ is what I would be jealous of… their _free will_ , not their damn souls."

  


Simon was beginning to lose track of Lucifer’s words, distracted by the velvety warmth of lips against his jaw, fingers tangling in his hair, his body pressed awkwardly against Lucifer’s in the pew, a dove trapped in the serpent’s embrace. 

  


"You’re such a pretty bird, Simon," Lucifer murmured against the side of his neck, long fingers brushing through Simon’s fiery red hair. Simon tilted his head back, eyes slipping half-closed, gazing up at the church’s vaulted ceiling through hazy warmth. His mind did not register the sensation at his waist, this fledgling body unaccustomed to the feel of clothing, let alone its removal, so when Lucifer’s hand began to trespass between his thighs and sent sparks of something fierce and hot through him, it was all Simon could do not to scream. His body gave a startled jerk, his eyes snapping open as he tried to lurch free of Lucifer’s grasp, but Lucifer held him tightly, purring reassurances against the side of his neck even as sharp teeth threatened his throat.

  


"Shh," Lucifer murmured, as Simon writhed uncomfortably against him. "I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. Mmm… you ought to come home with me, Simon. You could have all the souls you wanted."

  


"I don’t –" Simon began, his words abruptly trailing off into a sharp gasp as Lucifer’s fingertips traced nimbly around _something_ , something he had not known existed on this body until that exact moment, sending such a tide of powerful warmth through his body that he began to tremble, weak-limbed, his resistance fading to naught. Lucifer’s tongue was on his throat, tasting his skin with damp cat-lappings, and the slow glide of his palm down the front of Simon’s pants caused him to spread his thighs involuntarily.

  


"Let’s see just how mortal they made you," Lucifer murmured, just before his teeth closed upon Simon’s throat, atop his windpipe, and when Simon gasped he could manage nothing but a hiss of air. Panic stabbed sharp and black against his chest, the pressure of Lucifer’s body almost on top of his suddenly terrifying, the sensation vying with the flame of pleasure incited by Lucifer’s ministrations upon the rigid flesh between his thighs. Lucifer let go after a few moments of relishing in Simon’s struggle, his tongue then laving once more against Simon’s skin, the Angel’s pulse throbbing hard and fast in his throat. 

  


"Lucifer," Simon moaned thickly, and somewhere in the back of his mind he had thought to form a phrase of complaint, but it was quickly lost as Lucifer nosed past the collar of his coat to sink his teeth hard into the curve between his neck and shoulder. Simon thrashed, but Lucifer held him still, one arm holding Simon’s shoulders and one thigh resting heavily across Simon’s sprawling legs, and Simon could only cry out helplessly as pain and need mingled in his veins like some deadly poison. Simon’s hips rolled upward toward Lucifer’s hand, a keening whimper rising from the back of his throat, the impassioned flesh beneath Lucifer’s palm throbbing in synch with the wild beat of Simon’s heart.

  


Lucifer purred Simon’s name, but Simon did not notice, nor did Simon notice the way one of his thighs had somehow become situated between Lucifer’s or the way Lucifer moved against it, all he knew was that it was hot, it was hot and he was burning, the church was on fire, and the source of that fire seemed to be where Lucifer’s fingers were beginning to probe next. 

  


Simon had not been aware of this before, this slickness, this core of heat, the apex of the startling sensation that was filling his body and making him shake and moan with revulsion and desire. It was as if Lucifer was shaping new parts of him with his hands, kindling fires out of nothing, creating the spiraling galaxies and starbursts that showed against Simon’s eyelids when he closed his eyes like God had at the beginning of time. Lucifer’s name slipped from between Simon’s lips in a drawn-out whine, and now Lucifer was laughing again, but Simon was past the capacity to care as he writhed awkwardly on the bench, his new body seeking something of the flesh that his ethereal mind could not comprehend.

  


He was breathing hard, and Lucifer’s lips were at the corner of Simon’s mouth, their breath mingling as they panted, the blood-scent overwhelming Simon’s senses even as his nerves sizzled and snapped with the sensation wrought by Lucifer’s wise fingers. Simon tossed his head, and then he was tasting Lucifer’s tongue, Lucifer’s blood, the Fallen’s lips crushed against his, the desperate scrape of Simon’s teeth puncturing Lucifer’s flesh. Simon thrashed helplessly on the pew, struggling, trapped, yearning, one of his hands risen on its own to clutch at Lucifer’s shoulder as he returned the kiss and made pleading sounds into Lucifer’s mouth, the feeling swelling within him threatening to consume him, terrifying and exhilarating. It was not until it crashed, exploded, until the galaxies behind his eyes smashed together in a blinding explosion that shook the whole of him that Simon became even vaguely aware of his surroundings again, and, wracked with ecstasy, his blurred eyes caught the sight of the Son of God hanging, bloody, above the pulpit. Then he heard Lucifer’s low chuckle, heard the own dry rasp of his breath, and a tear spilled from the corner of his eye.

  


Simon sprawled limply on the bench, spent. Lucifer’s warmth was deceptively companionable as he curled up against Simon’s side and absently wiped his sticky fingers on Simon’s exposed stomach. Then Lucifer licked Simon’s tears away and whispered into his ear, "You are quite a treat."

  


Simon flinched away from him.

  


Lucifer chuckled again, kissing Simon’s cheek sweetly before smoothing his fingers through the Angel’s coppery hair. "Don’t forget about my offer," he said. "I’d _love_ to have you drop in and… mmm… stay a while." When Simon turned to give him a look that bordered on horrified, Lucifer smiled beatifically and said, "Think about it."

  


Then he was gone, the soft rustle of his coat like the whisper of dead leaves in a chill breeze following him down the aisle, away from where Simon slumped on the pew. The soft thud of the church doors closing echoed through the empty chamber, and then all was silent, save for the remaining Angel’s breathing.

  


Slowly, shaking, Simon drew himself to his feet. His face wet with tears, he gazed at the gaunt features of the wooden Jesus, and then he tilted his head back, his eyes aimed toward the unseen sky. His chest felt as hollow as the empty church.

  


"What have I done?" he whispered.

  


There was no answer.


End file.
